The Cycle

Severus chopped into the Valerian root, each subsequent cut synchronising with the relentless pounding in his chest. He was usually able to cut the root into precise squares, all the same size as one another, but today the shapes were jagged, resembling parallelograms more than anything. The potion would surely not be his best, but he didn’t care as long as it worked. 

He threw the botched pieces into a beaker filled with water, watching as the colour bled from the root fragments. He darkly wondered if there was any blood at the scene of her murder.

Was the Dark Lord merciful, hitting the witch with a quick killing curse, or was he sadistic, treating her like he did other muggle-borns during their raids? Dumbledore wouldn’t tell him; the old goat thought the fewer details he knew, the better. And Severus couldn’t see for himself, as he had no clue where Lily lived. 

His mouth twisted at that. He used to know everything about the witch, but now, years later, the only information he knew was from articles in the Daily Prophet. That being that she married Potter and had his spawn. 

He continued with the potion, not wanting to spiral down the same path of questioning why she had married his tormentor. It had taken him far longer than he could admit to get over that piece of information when he first heard the news. He knew that he scorned the woman, but that badly?

His grief quickly began to twist itself into a familiar anger the longer he stayed on the subject. 

Focusing on the cauldron, he began to stir, mentally counting to ten in his head before stirring in the other direction until the solution became clear. He watched it swirl, reminding himself that wallowing served no purpose. He was going to do what everyone had been wanting him to do long ago. He’d finally be freed from his twenty-one years of suffering, the thought alone bringing him slight relief from the pressure he felt in his chest, a pressure that never quite went away and that only worsened when he first heard the news of his childhood friend’s passing. 

A rapid knock jolted him from his thoughts. He sighed deeply as he pulled out his wand, putting a stasis charm on the cauldron before heading towards the noise, fully prepared to curse out whoever interrupted him. As his hand clutched the cool metal of the doorknob, he hoped that it was one of his followers, that they heard of his betrayal and decided to avenge their fallen master. 

He was disappointed when he opened the door just to be met with old, twinkling eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked harshly, too shocked for pleasantries. He didn’t expect to see the older man in person; hell, he informed him of Lily’s death via his Patronus. 

He still remembered that night. His body grew completely numb, and his ears began to ring, unintentionally blocking out every other word Dumbledore said after revealing the death of his best—his childhood friend. He fell to the floor, his muscles giving out. He laid there for a while—hours, days—he didn’t know. He only got up once he was struck with the idea to make the potion. 

It was as though a part of his soul was ripped from him that day. 

What could possibly be so important that he’d have to see him face to face? 

Dumbledore gave him a weak smile, revealing his understanding. That reminded him exactly why he didn’t like interacting with the headmaster. He always seemed to know exactly what Severus was thinking, despite the fact that he mastered Occlumency.

“Severus, you look well,” he said, the words sounding hollow. 

Severus scowled; he knew the headmaster was lying. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep since the moment he found out who exactly the prophecy was referring to. It was all his fault that she was dead, and the guilt was slowly eating him alive. 

He had to still face the Dark Lord and pretend that everything was fine, but after every meeting he’d throw up, disgusted at his own actions. As he was unable to eat, all that would come up was stomach acid. His throat was constantly burning, and though he could easily numb the pain, he left it as a painful reminder. He didn’t deserve to feel relief or comfort.

He was a monster.

“What do you want?” Severus asked weakly. He had enough of the headmaster's little games.

The old man let out a chuckle. “Who said I want something?” he said vaguely. 

Severus began to shut the door in his face, but his boney hand pushed against the weathered wood. “It’s not me who wants something from you, but Lily,” he finally confessed.  

Lily? How could she possibly want anything from Severus? She was dead, gone, nothing but flesh and bone that would soon become one with the earth. What could she possibly want from him? 

Realising that Severus wasn’t going to respond, Dumbledore decided to push forward, “Please, let’s discuss this inside. I’m afraid this is a sensitive matter, and I’d love to have a seat and give my old bones a rest.” 

Severus wanted to roll his eyes at that, but instead he reluctantly obliged, opening the door just wide enough for the older wizard to squeeze through. 

It was a peculiar sight—Dumbledore moving through his home, a splash of vibrant colour amidst the pervasive grey murkiness of his home. The old man sat on the moth-eaten couch with a huff, the two of them ignoring the dust that floated around afterward.

The entirety of his home was covered in varying degrees of neglect; besides the makeshift potion lab, the rest of Severus’s house remained unused. 

Severus made no move to join him; instead, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to pick at the peeling wallpaper in a fit of anxiety. Must the headmaster drag this out? 

Dumbledore let out a sigh. “During the process of clearing their house, we came across a journal that appeared to belong to Ms. Evans. Within it, we found one of her final requests,” he said cryptically.  

He raised a brow in response, not trusting himself to speak as his throat seemed to close in on itself. 

“She requested that you be the boy’s godfather,” Dumbledore continued. 

“He already has a godfather,” Severus pointed out, feeling more comfortable with picking apart the old man’s wording than thinking about what the man was implying.

He had to be lying.

Why would Lily ever trust him with her child? She couldn’t trust him enough to forgive him for what happened in their fifth year! 

The headmaster chuckled, “Yes, well, you’re the boy’s other godfather. In the wizarding world, there are no restrictions based on gender; the parents simply need to designate two wizards as potential guardians. And we both know what happened with Mr. Black,” he said gravely. 

Severus didn’t make any move to hide his sneer at the mention of the Gryffindor. While he knew that Black was more capable of evil than the rest of his peers, he never thought the bastard would go so far as to betray the one person he seemed to idolise. It made no sense to him, but then again, he was capable of murder at the ripe age of fifteen; would it truly be so farfetched to believe he would betray again? 

“What about Potter’s parents?” Severus asked. He knew what became of the Evans; he visited their graves often. Even though their daughter and him had a falling out, the Evans would still send him a card every Christmas until their untimely passing. 

Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m afraid the child’s only living relative is Ms. Evan’s sister.” 

Petunia? The wretched girl who hated all things magic and resented her sister most of all. The girl who would tear apart Lily’s belongings while she was off at Hogwarts, the girl who threw rocks at them once she realised that they weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school after Lily pushed the Statute of Secrecy a little too much.  

She loathed Lily the moment she realised she was magical, that her sister was 'special’ and she wasn't. Severus was certain she would extend that loathing to Harry. Images of his own father and how he reacted when Severus first used magic involuntarily flashed in his mind. Would she be the same? Was it worth taking the risk? 

“No,” Severus said without thinking. He had no experience with children, and with such a tumultuous childhood himself, he hadn’t the first clue on how to raise children, let alone a traumatised magical toddler. 

“Severus, Lily entrusted you with the care of her own child. Please reconsider.” 

He scowled at the headmaster’s manipulative wording. He didn’t miss the fact that Dumbledore only referred to Lily as ‘Ms. Evans’ and not the more accurate 'Mrs. Potter.' Or how he only referred to the child as hers and made no mention of the child’s father. Dumbledore made all too sure that he left out any trace of James Potter in their conversation, as if the mention of the man’s name would tarnish Severus’s decision. 

The truth was, Potter didn’t matter at all in his choice. It wasn’t the fact that it was his spawn that made him apprehensive, but the fact that it was a child alone. Severus was not built for raising one; in fact, his lifestyle thus far made it so he was far away from any of them. 

At this point, the decision was between two evils. He couldn’t have the child stay with Petunia; he knew how unhappy that would make the witch, but was he any better? While she hated the child's mother, Severus loathed his father. 

He was no better than her—a man steeped in bitterness, his words often laced with venom. He held grudges and was unable to show any warmth, even if his life depended on it. 

However, his time with the Death Eaters had taught him how to hide his contempt. If he was able to convince a bunch of pure-bloods that he didn't hate their guts, surely he could do the same with a child. 

Right? 

“Most people are unsure of how to raise a child. Severus, I wouldn’t ask you unless I had one hundred percent confidence that you’d do a good job,” he assured. 

“I… I can’t.” 

The soft, understanding look quickly disappeared from Dumbledore’s face, and a grave, disappointed expression showed. He rose from the couch, making his way towards Severus. “Must I remind you why the boy became orphaned in the first place? Severus, if you had any love in your heart for Lily, you’d accept the offer and rectify your mistake.” 

Severus flinched, his words feeling like a strike to the face. 

However, the headmaster was right. This whole mess was all his fault. He killed her; he should be the one to fulfil her last wishes. 

Keep the only remaining part of her alive. 

His mouth pressed into a firm line before quickly letting out a disgruntled “fine.” He couldn’t promise to provide the child love, but he could offer it protection, and that was more than what Petunia could give.  

A glint appeared in the headmaster’s eye; he was pleased with Severus’s decision. And for some strange reason that perturbed him. 

He signalled for someone to come in, and Hagrid, the half giant, squeezed through the doorway. He dominated the space in the room, his head having to bow down so it wouldn’t hit against the ceiling. In one hand he held a small boy who was in a deep sleep; he looked like a shrunken-down version of his father, which made Severus almost want to change his mind. 

“Wait-You mean right now?” Severus sputtered. He thought that surely the headmaster would give him at least a week to procure items for the child and do research on how to properly care for a magical toddler. 

"Hello, Severus, thank yeh fer takin' care o' little Harry fer us,” the groundskeeper said, completely ignoring Severus’s concern.  

His mouth twisted at the gratitude; he really didn’t have much choice in the matter now, did he? 

Dumbledore made his way over to the half-giant. “Yes, well, he has nowhere else to stay, and with so many of Voldemort’s followers running around, we need him out of the magical world,” he said matter of factly. He then raised a hand to the child’s head, performing some sort of wandless magic to wake it back up.

The toddler’s eyelids fluttered open, and Severus had to hold back a gasp at the familiar set of emerald iris. 

Just above his right eye was red scarring shaped like a bolt of lightning, most likely the product of Voldemort’s failed attempt at murder. It was strange, seeing such a brutal scar on such a young face; it didn’t look right. 

Dumbledore gently grabbed the toddler out of Hagrid’s hands and placed him into Severus’s unsuspecting ones. “I will send an owl later with all of Harry’s belongings.” 

Severus held the Potter spawn under its arms, keeping it far away from him as he was scared that it was going to spit up.

They still did that at this age, right? The child looked at him with big, rounded eyes as Severus appraised it with disgust; it slobbered all over itself as it slept. 

He panicked when he noticed Hagrid and Dumbledore start to make their leave. “Wait! Is it erm, toilet trained?” he asked nervously. 

“He’s only fifteen months old,” Dumbledore plainly stated. 

“So?” Severus asked, unable to see where that answered his question.

The headmaster blinked owlishly at him momentarily before continuing to head out the door. He stopped at the door frame and turned to Severus. “I will come visit next week to check on how the two of you are holding up. Only write to me if it is of absolute importance,” he said, then quickly turned around and left.

Hagrid stood there awkwardly for a moment before fishing out something in his pocket and holding it out for Severus.

The half-giant’s hand was so large that it took him a moment to realise that he was holding a book. Severus clumsily set Harry on his hip and grabbed the novel. 

“Thought it might help,” he said before leaving as well. Severus looked down at the book, ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting.’ There on the cover was a woman who looked far too happy to be pregnant.

He scowled; he was sure that the book was for the act of growing a child yourself, and from appearance alone, he was sure that Harry was far past the window of time referenced in the novel. 

He looked back up at Harry, who was still staring wide-eyed at him. “Looks like it’s just you and me now,” he mumbled. 

To Severus’s horror, Harry’s big green eyes started to form tears, and cries began to fill the room. 

For Merlin’s sake, he may have just made the worst decision of his life.